Change
by turntechSalamander
Summary: Dreams can change everything while still changing nothing. One-sided Ciel/Sebastian, Ciel having a very good time with his hand, imaginary underage sex. Somewhat PWP. One-shot.


Change

((A/N:

This is my first time writing anything smutty, so I disguised the 600 solid words of porn by making it so longwinded and artistic sounding that eventually I forgot that I was writing 600 words of porn.

Summary: Dreams can change everything while still changing nothing. One-sided Ciel/Sebastian, Ciel having a very good time with his hand, imaginary underage sex. Somewhat PWP.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji or any related characters or concepts.))

A few years prior, when Ciel had dreams of Sebastian, he woke in a cold sweat, still reeling from visions of death and blood and gut-wrenching screams as the Devil himself tore his captors to pieces. Each dream of his demon broke his mind anew, every nightmare made seeking sleep the next night that much harder.

At fifteen years old, when Ciel had dreams of Sebastian, he woke with sweat glistening on his pale skin for entirely different reasons. Reasons he would cast aside. He'd ignore the pounding heat that seemed to pool in his abdomen and send its unwelcome tendrils of desire to his most intimate place, that made his legs shake and his whole being itch to be brought relief. He knew, in theory, how to… take care of himself, but to bring himself pleasure with sinful dreams about a man, a _demon_, still vivid in his mind was something he liked to think his pride would never allow.

So he would order Sebastian to draw a cold bath, and chase any illicit thoughts away. Perhaps, he thought, if he put them out of his mind, they would not return.

And yet they did, time after time, and eventually, the young Earl's resolve weakened just enough.

One morning he woke early, before his dutiful butler would come to rouse him with tea and scones, his hand already between his legs.

And he relented.

As desperately as he tried to keep his mind blank, to focus on the movements of his hand alone, his brain had other ideas for itself that day and drifted to Sebastian within minutes. And as soon as that flawless face presented itself in Ciel's mind, like a reminder of what he wanted so much and yet could not have, could not even admit he desired, he knew he could not turn back.

So he closed his eyes, and his own hand became Sebastian's hand as the demon would lean over him, face adorned with that teasing smirk that was his and his alone.

"Shall I continue, young master?" Sebastian would say in a low, sultry, _dangerous _voice, pausing his motions, not because of uncertainty, no, but because he knew it would make Ciel's blood boil.

"Continue," the Earl would reply, and he would absolutely _not _beg, he would not even order, he would not let his mask slip, not yet. So he'd like to believe. Sebastian would smile, _of course, my Lord_, and he would put those hands that could so expertly decorate a cake or draw a bow over the strings of a violin to good use, touching his master in all the right places as Ciel slowly allowed himself to come undone.

He would still be dressed, of course, as it would be proper for a butler to be, but, Ciel decides, he would have left his gloves on the side table. This had to be skin-on-skin, neither would allow a layer of fabric to come in between. Sebastian would let his marked hand rest on his master's chest, so that Ciel could see the brand that meant that the demon was _his_. And, though he'd certainly pretend to be indignant about it, Ciel would leave his eyepatch with the gloves, exposing that he was Sebastian's as well.

Funny, how sentiment crept into such a carnal exercise.

Ciel could feel himself nearing his limit, his hips bucking by their own volition as sticky fingers continued their ministrations. Against his own better judgment, he gave into the desire to be vocal, a breathy moan, "Nnh, _Sebastian_!" sneaking past his lips-

And his fantasy fell to pieces as the demon who starred in it opened the heavy wood doors to the Earl's bedchamber.

A moment passed in stiff silence as Sebastian took in the sight of his master laying flushed and panting in his bed, the sheets, though covering him, doing nothing to hide what he had been doing. Ciel was frozen as though he were a marble statue. He dare not move now.

"My apologies, young master." The butler said, finally, that infuriatingly beguiling smirk worming its way onto his face. "I thought I heard you calling for me."

"You must have been mistaken." Ciel replied in a trembling voice. Sebastian simply smiled. _'Smug bastard.'_

"Ring for me when you are finished, my Lord." The demon bowed, then added before he left the room once more, "I shall see to it that breakfast is prepared."

The Earl so wished he could defy him, push his desires away as he had done so many times before and go on with his day as though this had never occurred, but his will was not so strong as he might have thought. The doors quietly shut and he began his movements once again, only the briefest of moments remaining before he reached his peak, his vision fading into a white hot blur.

He fell back onto the pile of pillows behind him, remnants of arousal giving way to a nauseating mix of shame and amusement. What a troubled soul he was, to have such feelings for Sebastian of all people.

And, Ciel realized as he lazily tugged at the bell cord, it would be so easy to turn these sinful dreams and secret desires into reality. He needed only say the word, to order it by their contract. Sebastian could not refuse.

It would be so easy, and yet he could not do it. Once the blinds were pulled back and he was free from the land of dreams, he could not order Sebastian to make love to him, to fulfill the things he wanted so greatly. He was safe in his fantasies, but reality was different. Reality had servants who could gossip, gossip that could ruin him. Reality had friends, family, a fiancée who arrived unexpected, who could approach his door at the worst of times. Reality had a demon who would never _really_ want him, not like _that_.

So when Sebastian returned with breakfast and the morning post, Ciel said nothing. He sipped his tea and refused party invitations as though nothing had changed.

And once the betraying color had left his cheeks and he was dressed in crisp, clean clothes, perhaps nothing had.


End file.
